Upon a Star
by SociallyInept
Summary: A red-haired artist, an unplanned series of events. An unintended heir. Mestral's adventures sixty years after being left on Earth.
1. San Felipe de Neri

It seems impossible that he would have continued to thrive in such a place, but Mestral found a different sort of home on Earth over the decades that followed the mishap at Carbon Creek.

He kept to himself mostly, out of respect for the development of Terran society and history, knowing that even the slightest injury would reveal his alien heritage; yet like an addiction he couldn't keep away from these fascinating, mystifying humans.

For the most part, Pon Farr passed without incident through the first century. He found ways to cope, contraceptives, anything to prevent an undesired pregnancy or worse. Fate had a different goal in mind, proven by a chance encounter with a youngish artist.

She was called Lily. Mestral knew the name origin to be a plant from the genus Lilium. This one was human though. She had unruly red hair and green eyes that held memories that would never fade, that had left their scars. On top of that, she was an actress in an unstable, propaganda-laden time.

-  
It was Thursday. This was not normally a day for introspection or discovery but in the process of walking to the market to purchase more vegetables, Mestral was intrigued by some sort of artistic display in the square commons. There was a canvas balanced on a wooden easel that was stained with years of paints, which was itself stood upon a thin cheap plastic tarp. There was a small crowd in the plaza, usually empty due to the unforgiving desert heat. Albuquerque doesn't usually lend itself to outdoor displays in the summer months, yet here she was, painting a still of the San Felipe de Neri church which stood across the road from the gazebo in the grassy center square.

Mestral didn't put any thought into Terran religion, preferring his own Vulcan thoughts on the matter, however he felt compelled to pause and comment on the likeness to the facility.

"Madam, your painting is uncanny," he began. She turned and studied him. He almost fancied her emerald eyes seeing through his façade to the Vulcan beneath, but logically that was not possible.

"Thanks, stranger. Churches are kind of a specialty of mine. I hate service but there is such passion in the building and that energy almost stays there," she trailed off, gesturing futilely. "It is the passion that the workers and the clergy had when building the site that draws me in more than the actual sermon itself. Words are words. But to walk up and get a certain impression takes an extra level of skill," She concluded, turning to look at Mestral.

He bowed slightly, "I am sure the architects would be pleased to hear that,"

And then she smirked. It wasn't a smile and it wasn't symmetrical. The right half of her mouth raised, making her right eye crinkle; it was sarcastic and sardonic and utterly appealing.

"Considering they've probably been dead for three hundred years I bet they have bigger concerns." She studied Mestral. "I'm Lily."

She stuck out her right hand. Mestral knew this to be a gesture of greeting. He guarded himself and shook her hand; no need to share the dilemma of being an empath at this point. "I am Mestral."

"Mestral? Yeah, I have never heard that name before. What is that, French?" she asked, cocking her head. Mestral merely shrugged.

It became a blur but somehow they were seated at a small table only hours later facing each other. There was a candle on the table illuminating only their faces- Mestral's tanned, angular features and Lily's soft, pale, freckled face. As they ate their way through the meal's courses, it felt like two old souls reconnecting after a long period apart. He couldn't help but feel as though they were old friends reuniting after a long absence- vokau, in his native tongue. Eventually the restaurant closed and the two parted, with a phone number on Mestral's part and a promise on Lily's.

He never did get his groceries.


	2. The International Balloon Fiesta

A month later, Lily had convinced him to go to a four a.m. event with her. She had such a strange fascination with hot air balloons, and it was always worse in early October leading up to the International Balloon Fiesta.

"It's like the Judy Garland song from 'The Wizard of Oz'," she explained to him over breakfast burritos that day, shivering in the forty degree desert cold in the pre-dawn open air, "Birds can fly over the rainbow, why oh why can't I? It's about being able to escape even when it seems impossible. To get away and live the life you would be happy at."

Mestral paused, thoughtfully chewing his egg and cheese vegetarian breakfast burrito, "How would you know that the life you are actually currently living is not the life you would be happiest in?"

Lily paused, studying the sunrise. Mestral was struck by her posture. A lone woman, standing erect, if bundled in several layers of flannel and jackets, chin up and eyes bright. Not unlike the Vulcan women from his homeworld, but with much more hair.

She merely sighed. "I don't know." And regarded the sunrise with a tad more wizened despair. "But it must be better than this. We could die tomorrow and no one would care."

Mestral had learned quite a few lessons on American politics and international policy on this planet, and was compelled to agree. Humans tended to regard their individual struggles above those of their species as a collective. He couldn't quite think of a coherent counter argument, given the latest series of event darkening the horizon. He had made it sixty years since first landing on Earth with the reconnaissance mission, and yet the Cold War threat was not comparable to the current state of events in the Terran world. He felt a shiver of cold air enter his coat and tightened his scarf.

"What will happen next is out of your control. How you handle it is what you should preoccupy yourself with," was his weak advice. Vulcan had been through a nuclear war and it left no one without losses; the Terrans seemed focused on finding this out for themselves.

Lily looked up at him. "It definitely seems that way. Thanks for coming with me."

And then the balloons began inflating and her attention was on them instead of on her strange companion. Mestral was fascinated, watching the hot air balloons inflate; it took an entire team of humans to get them ready to go, and if he understood the concept like he thought he did, they released their course to the mercy of the winds once they were in the air. He had lived in many places in the years since 1957 when he landed on this crazy emotional planet, yet the desert still held a special place in his heart and psyche. It was inevitable that he would end up in one again, and his time in the southwestern United States was more fulfilling than any other region. It was different from home, yet eerily similar at times.

Water was scarce, and they had dust storms. Not the legendary dust storms of Vulcan that disrupted communication and technology, but significant enough nonetheless. However he also found a remarkable resilience among the residents, especially those such as Lily who transplanted themselves in order to find something better. When they did, it was incredible. Lily's art was incredible. Mestral was not a curator by any means, having been trained in the practical sciences and spatial physics, yet even he could appreciate the way color and form coagulated into an impression in Lily's work.

As the balloons took off and began floating away by the dozens, Lily grabbed Mestral's arm and pulled him close. "I want a photo of this," she said excitedly. "This is beautiful!"

Mestral glanced at her but obliged as the smart phone came out and she focused it on them with the alighting hot air balloons in the background. "Smile," she grinned, clicking the button to capture the photo. Mestral didn't have time to react once she had grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close, and then despite his protests she kept the photo.


	3. The Teachings, and Being Taught

And then it was two months later, early December, and Lily was keeping his bed warm. The initial connection had only grown, and unfortunately so had base rent on apartments in the area. She had begun by renting a room from him in Sandia Heights, and it had naturally metamorphosed through conversation and connection into them both sharing his bed and the spare room Lily had originally been in being converted into a studio. Neither objected to the situation. Mestral marveled at how native he was becoming and Lily wondered at meeting someone who was so much like her.

That December though, an incident occurred and Lily discovered aliens.

Despite the fact that Mestral had lived in the North for several decades and had only transplanted to the southwestern desert a few years prior, Lily dragged him outside to build a snowman that December to enjoy the winter season.

"He is missing something," she concluded, standing side by side with Mestral, "I'm not sure what- a hat!" she yelled triumphantly, and before he had time to step clear, Mestral found his omnipresent toboggan cap yanked from his head, revealing his pointed ears. Lily was focused on the cap at first, situating it on the snowman before turning to him.

"Doesn't it look…oh, what happened to your ears?" she blushed. "Oh my."

He swallowed the growing dismay and tried to recover. "It is a natural medical condition…" he tried, but she was already bright red and apologizing.

"Mestral, I am so sorry, I had no idea and you never said anything and always have a hat on so I thought it would be funny and I AM SO SORRY," her eyes were bright with tears.

"There is nothing to forgive, I am as I am," Mestral studied Lily's countenance. "I cannot be discovered."

Her artist senses perked right up. "What? What does that mean?" She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and refocused on Mestral, green eyes bright with curiosity. Inwardly agitated, Mestral gently led Lily back inside and began some tea on the stove.

"You must never tell anyone of this," he warned. Despite himself, Mestral was compelled by Lily's generally even temperament and open mind to proceed even though it went against logic to reveal his alien nature.

He turned, arm outreached with a pottery mug of tea for Lily in hand, "But I am not of this planet."

Lily snort-laughed, but sobered when she realized Mestral was being serious. "Wait, really? How? Wait that doesn't make sense, how- What is even going on right now? Oh my, I have so many questions. How do I know you aren't lying to me?"

Mestral paused. How could he prove to this human woman that he was telling the truth? The only artifact he had at hand was the dead phaser in his suitcase, safely tucked away. Another macabre idea arose, but he vetoed it for the time being. The Teachings were in his nightstand, that may be enough.

"Come," he hesitated, and led her into his room. Lily looked at home among his collection of southwestern oddities added to his overall collection from Carbon Creek, the site of his disastrous reconnaissance trip to this contradictory, frustrating planet. Yet somehow, curvy Lily blended right in despite her fair, freckled skin and copper hair.

"I am not from here," Mestral began, uncovering his Vulcan memorabilia. He handed her the Teachings of Surak. "I appeal to your logic and reasoning to consider this truth; I am from a planet far away where we contain our emotions and are governed by reason and fact. You must understand," he added upon registering Lily's incredulous expression, "That it was never my intention to be a resident here. I was fulfilling my mission and have had to adapt to this lifestyle. This is not how I intended you to find this out."

She weighed the book in her hands, and carefully opened it to a random page.

"Being and non-being produce each other.  
Difficult and easy complement each other.  
Long and short define each other.  
High and low oppose each other.  
Therefore the wise Vulcan  
can act without doing anything  
and teach without saying a word"

Lily read quietly to herself, paused to process the contents, and raised her eyes above the page to her companion.

"This is like your Bible," she said quizzically. Mestral bowed his head.  
"That is a poor allegory and yet there is a grain of truth there." He explained, seated at the footboard of his bed. Lily leaned against the dresser across the room, flipping through the book and silently reading exerpts at random. Several long long minutes later, she spoke again.

"I can't help but be skeptical of all of this," Lily concluded, closing the Teachings and handing it back. "I was not at all aware that I was living with a crazy person."

Mestral sighed, thoughts racing. He settled on an idea. "What if I could prove it?"

"Prove you are an alien?" Lily frowned, glancing quickly at the door. "Sure. Blow my mind away."

Mestral stood up and went into the master bath, returning with a razor blade. "If I prove this, you must bear the burden of my secret," he warned. "I do not desire to be dissected in Roswell or anywhere else for that matter."

Lily merely nodded, studying the razor blade warily. Mestral paused for a moment to gather his calm and enter a light meditative state, and brought the razor down hard on his left forearm. Lily winced and cried out, reaching towards him. Mestral gently pushed her arm away, bringing his now-injured arm even closer.

"I am not of this planet," he said cautiously. "I am a Vulcan of the planet Vulcan." The slice on his forearm welled up and then over flowed with vibrant green blood. Lily stood transfixed from across the room. As Mestral began covering the new would, Lily gradually got closer.  
"You are really an alien," she breathed, gently touching his now-injured arm. "What the hell."

Mestral filled her in on everything. T'Mir, the ship crashing in Carbon Creek, saving the miners and how his crew faked his death so he could remain on Earth. An hour passed in such a manner and when Mestral was finally tired of delivery and laid down on the bed to sleep, Lily sat on her favorite wingback chair in the living room and knew there would be no rest for her that night.


	4. Lovelace

The storm passed, as all storms do. The snowman bearing Mestral's toboggan had melted, as did Snowman 2.0, 2.1, and 3.0 before Lily finally gave up trying to keep her snowmen alive. In the days before Christmas work had caught up with her, she was given some space in a Local Artists gallery. Which meant she had to come up with paintings for it. Which then meant that the dogged stomach bug following her around needed to end.

As she lay curled up on the bathroom floor with a hot toddy, a fleece blanket, and her sketchbook, Lily tried to brainstorm ideas for a possible theme. Mestral had been trying to get her to go lie down in bed to recuperate, but every time he left the room she would get up and stagger back into the bathroom to throw up some more and then curl back up beside the toilet again. He had given up and gone to the grocery store for more sick people supplies on her behalf.

She spooned with the base of the toilet and thought some more. What theme could be appropriate? Why did she choose to be a painter? No one had said it would be so frustrating and well there is another round of bile working its way up- she sat up and dealt with that. Dimly, she heard the garage door open and close and then a calm presence was in the doorway. Mestral was home.

"You took forever," she moaned as she reached up and pulled the handle to flush. "Did you get my lemon-lime knockoff soda? And the store brand crackers?"

"Yes," he hesitated. "I had a rather interesting encounter with another patron. An elder female saw what I was putting in my cart and asked if my wife was sick or expecting."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Wow, there is a lot of things wrong with that. One, we are not married. B, I think I would know if I was pregnant. I haven't even missed my cycle yet." She paused. "It's still November."

Mestral stopped pulling items out of the reusable bags he always took to the store, glancing at her sharply, "It is December 22nd. By my calculations, you have."

He took a small box out of the bag and studied it warily for several moments while Lily reached up to the counter and grabbed the box of crackers. She didn't care, despite this stomach bug- and that is what it was, she thought firmly- she hadn't lost her appetite at all. Despite her ravaging hunger, she paced herself, snacking and sipping her generic soda periodically for several minutes before noting that Mestral was still standing there.

"Are you ok?" she asked, sitting the soda bottle down on the rim of the tub. Mestral jerked slightly, refusing eye contact. He nodded and set the box he had been staring at down on the counter and left the room.

Lily raised an eyebrow and craned her neck to see what the box was that had him so bothered. It was a pregnancy test.

Four days later, the nurse at Lovelace said the same thing. "Congratulations, Miss Tyler!" Lily breathed deeply. Mestral was waiting in the car, having attempted to come with her and giving up because of the smells he was detecting in the women's hospital. She had learned pretty early on how sensitive his sense of smell was and understood. Plus, she felt like this was something she needed to do by herself. Her mother had raised her alone, and it still felt strange sometimes to have a man around even if he was an alien.

That brought up more thoughts, she realized as she checked out and set up future appointments. Will this child even survive? Will Lily? What if another war begins, the Eugenics War had barely come to its dissatisfying solution and tensions were still high. There were radioactivity warnings just as much as dust storm warnings in Bernalillo County these days, perhaps that is how she even managed to conceive in the first place. They hadn't bothered with contraception because of how biologically different they were.

Lily felt her stomach. Not exactly flat, but not from having a tiny baby forming. Creepy men had told her growing up that she had 'child-bearing hips'. She tried to imagine carrying a child and just couldn't envision it. Perhaps it was exhaustion from being so ill, or shock. She started through the parking lot towards the small but practical sedan Mestral owned. He was reading a book, the jerk. She considered him as a father. Actually, he would probably be fantastic at it. At least the child wouldn't have a deadbeat dad like she had.

As she opened the door and sat down, Mestral marked his page and set down his book, starting the car's engine.

"How did it go?" he asked calmly. Lily looked over with her green eyes wide, then burst into tears.


	5. The Goddess of Joy

Valdena, the Vulcan goddess of love, joy, and happiness, is not canon but she is featured on Memory Beta as established in licensed non-canon works.

The first remarkable woman Mestral met on Earth was, of course, Maggie.

If the constant vomiting and illness was at the beginning of the first trimester, by the third Lily was a hot mess. Mestral masked his concern, but it was very much there under the surface. At the beginning of the second trimester the doctors at Lovelace had declared that Lily's pregnancy was high-risk, for reasons that defied their medical index. Her symptoms worsened and she was diagnosed with preeclampsia and put on bedrest through the remainder of the pregnancy.

Mestral stopped going on his solitary camping or hiking trips, preferring instead to stay within sensing range of his accidental mate. She was being strong, but he could tell she was exhausted and in some pain. As the pregnancy progressed, there were increasingly more days when he had to assist her even to go to the bathroom or brush her hair due to exhaustion and illness. Mildly forgetful at the best of times, Lily had designated Mestral her caregiver early on. He ruthlessly followed the doctor's orders and made sure Lily did the same.

This likely may have helped save the baby.

Mestral was not satisfied with the explanation he had received upon asking the nurses as to why pregnancy was measures in weeks and trimesters, but he used the flawed system to track anything he deemed significant enough to record. So when Lily started having contractions at the 6th day of week 33, he was able to tell the hospital staff exactly that as well as the exact symptoms she had and when. That little grey four-door sedan Mestral drove never saw such speeds as the day Mestral took Lily to the hospital in town. As soon as he got there, after merely two sentences of his precise explanation, the medical team took Lily on a wheeled hospital bed deep into the women's hospital.

Mestral was not entirely sure where they went but eventually was able to locate the room. He sat on a bench somewhat down the hall and waited, focusing on meditative techniques. Three more doctors of some sort came jogging down the hall and entered the room. He tried not to focus on their sense of urgency. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. And again….

"Mr. Tyler?" he heard a voice say dimly through his trancelike calm. Who was Mr. Tyler? Tyler is Lily's last name. He recalled that she had lied on the form and said that her surname was her 'husband' Mestral's surname and incredibly, the administrators believed it.

"Yes," he let the calm drop and came back to full consciousness. The male nurse looked incredibly agitated, glancing back at the door to Lily's room worriedly.

"The baby is okay," the nurse said quickly, "We took her to NICU for care and observation. But your wife can't stop bleeding and if there is anything you want to say before she goes, you need to do it now."

Goes where, Mestral dimly thought. Humans and their euphemisms. And then it registered. "Pardon?"

"She is not going to make it, her condition has deteriorated past our abilities to restore and as her husband, you need to know this," he explained patiently but quickly, glancing again back at the door. "You need to say goodbye now."

Mestral was shocked. They knew the risks of a preeclamptic pregnancy but even he hadn't devoted much thought to the darker aspects of what might occur. He had not planned for a motherless child in any of his lists of procedures based upon the various outcomes his internet research had given him. But the second remarkable woman he had met on this planet was a moment from death.

"Of course," he lied, "I am ready."

The room was small, merely 12' by 12', and decorated with whitish furniture and pale green walls. There were sheer white curtains on the moderately sized window, and a dying new mother on the hospital bed. Her bright red hair was spread out over the pillow, framing her gaunt, pale face. She was still radiant, and very clearly ill. As Mestral approached, her closed eyes twitched. He saw a sliver of emerald green peek at him, and felt an arm gently bump his.

"That goddess you mentioned awhile back," she slurred, "the happy one. What was the name?"

"Valdena," Mestral replied, gently smoothing Lily's hair back down. "The goddess of joy of old, before the split." He kept it vague on purpose, not that the doctors in the room would notice- they were too busy. He had explained Vulcan's old history earlier that year and she had been utterly fascinated.

"Valdena Tyler," Lily sighed, "Val. My girl."

"As you wish," was all Mestral could manage before he felt Lily relax, and pass on.


	6. Ruth Bader Ginsburg

Mestral drive home without passengers, and filled a duffel bag with the things Lily had ordered online for their child. The bassinet and changing station and furniture had taken over the third bedroom of the house Mestral lived in. They had mutually agreed that Lily's artistic space be left alone even though she didn't have the strength at the moment to use it. Mestral wasn't sure of the hospital's policies for the neonatal intensive care unit, and so after some reflection, the bag was filled mostly with books and only a few outfits for the baby.

The baby Val would be in NICU for at least a week until the hospital staff was sure she would survive on her own. She had human blood- red, copper-based, type O+ like her mother. The only outward feature that made her stand out was her pointed ears, a Vulcan feature that the hospital had decided was a cosmetic birth defect and were deliberately being very tactful about. Mestral had no issues with letting them believe that was an accident. He was privately extremely relieved that the baby had copper-based blood instead of his own; she would be far better at blending in with all of the regular humans than he.

But at the same time, she had her mother's eyes. That same relentless emerald green that had fascinated him in her mother drew Mestral to his daughter. No Vulcan had green eyes, it was not a possible color tone for their race. Val was lighter-toned than Mestral, but darker than Lily, and the little hair that she had at birth was dark. Mestral may have thought he loved Lily- and he did, in his own way- but the baby had him utterly enraptured. His half-human scion was the work of art that Lily had wished to embody in paint, not with her life. Yet here was the situation that came from that.

An hour later, Mestral was back in the hospital getting approval to visit his child, alone. He was painfully aware of Lily's absence and even with his Vulcan training and meditation, couldn't quite register that she was dead. He would be raising their daughter alone. He had brought a selection of books to read to her. On Vulcan, it was never too early to begin an education and just because his child was half human, that was no excuse.

The books were primarily biographies of various Earth persons. Upon arriving, Mestral was led to Val's plastic crib with its safety lid, so that contaminants couldn't affect her, and he was given a rocking chair to sit in next to her crib. Ever so carefully, the attending nurse laid his scion in his arms, and he immediately observed how small she was. So tiny and vulnerable, and the first of her kind. He looked down at his baby, nestled in his arms, and felt a powerful stirring within. This was his daughter. His child to raise, to continue his familial line.

Mestral used his free arm to rummage through the duffel bag and pulled out a book randomly. A Biography of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. That would do nicely, he wanted his daughter to not be confined to the gender restraints of contemporary Earth culture. Mestral would not say he was a feminist, but this concept this planet had of women being regarded as inferior was preposterous to him. He took a calming breath and began in a smooth tenor to read to Valdena, "Joan Ruth Bader was born in Brooklyn, New York on March 15, 1933…."


	7. Be Unremarkable

Five years.

It somehow has been five years.

Valdena was strong enough to leave the hospital after two weeks, and Mestral had parented as best he could during the day. At night after Val was tucked in to sleep, Mestral hit the books and researched as much as he could on parenting and raising children. By most accounts it seemed easier than raising Vulcan children. Vulcan children were wildcards and ruled by their emotions and desires to a level of unreasonability that made human children look like puppies by comparison. Valdena, despite the tears and poop and eating, was nearly angelic in comparison.

"Dad," a small, high voice piped at the opposite end of Mestral's desk, "Dad!"

"Yes," Mestral addressed his daughter. He minimized his browser page on parenting tips on introducing children to public education in case she saw he didn't know what he was doing. This was a major theme of parenting but no need to let on.

"I start school tomorrow," Val emphasized, "What am I supposed to expect with that?"

Mestral furrowed his brows. "I do not rightly know. My educational experience was quite different. But it is highly likely that you will be far more intelligent than your peers,"

"How so?" Val's small voice asked. She had her hands grasping the edge of his desk, studying her father with those fathomless green eyes. Her thick black hair was barely restrained by several bobby pins.

"My research indicates that at this level, children are expected to learn to read, do basic arithmetic, and develop basic social skills," Mestral explained to his daughter, "You are already advanced in all three of those, but a word of caution," he warned.

Val frowned, "What?"

"I have learned to not let it be known how smart I am," he worded carefully, "And it would do you good to do the same."  
"Even if I know the answer?" Val asked.

"Within reason," Mestral tried to articulate his concern. Valdena was far advanced compared to most of humans at her age, and by his logic, the less attention on her at this point the better. Val was too small to defend herself. Sure, she was tall for her age compared to her fully human classmates, but there was still the unspoken fact that she was not fully human at all. This soon after the Eugenics Wars, that sort of information could prove fatal.

Thus, despite his misgivings on the information, Mestral of Vulcan's daughter had no idea that she was only half human. The less that she knows at this point, the better, he determined. Children do not have filters and until she was aware of that, the less information the better.

Mestral gave his daughter a gentle hug, "Come. Let us pick an outfit for you to wear tomorrow."

At five years old, despite only 50% of her DNA being human, Valdena picked out an outfit that any Earthen five-year-old would be jealous of. There was pink with pink, accented with more pink. Also, frills. "Will I fit in with this?" she asked her father, modelling the outfit by holding the hanger in front of herself and pretending.

"It is certainly something to see," Mestral said in response, privately vowing to double down on the Vulcan culture with his daughter. "You will be very noticeable in that."

She ended up going to school the next day in a modest t-shirt and jeans, chosen by her father. It was best if she was forgettable for now.


	8. The Taos Hum

The debate prompt was 'do aliens exist'. Mestral actually shook his head at that. Humans were so predictably petty sometimes. But his child had top grades in the sometimes questionable public school system of Albuquerque. Mestral had been thinking about moving, but wanted to wait until his daughter was done with elementary school in order to minimize the psychological damage.

They just had to make it for one more semester. At ten years old, Valdena was enraptured with learning. She was reading on a college level and the elementary school didn't know what to do with her. She would have skipped several grades except for Mestral's disapproval of the notion. He had explained to the school board that although she was exceptional in her studies, her emotional maturity was below par and so she needed to remain with her peers and basically, learn how to cope with stupidity.

Even though it was close to the end of the school year, Mestral had decided to reward his daughter's devotion to academics by taking her camping. They had driven north to Taos to visit the pueblos there, as well as to simply get out of town for awhile. Mestral wanted to gauge Valdena's willingness to be in unfamiliar areas. The first thing that happened, heading into town, was the infamous Taos Hum.

"Dad, do you hear that?" Val asked, cocking her head in the backseat. In the driver's seat of the sedan, Mestral shrugged.

"It is considered an unknown effect. The scientists that have studied the effect have no solid explanation," he said. Although truth be told, he had found the hum comforting. Judging by Val's current state, she did too. They had a reservation on the edge of town called El Monte Sagrado, and checked in to the resort upon arrival. They weren't going to fully experience the wilderness due to the current national situation; Mestral was increasingly worried about the so-called sanctuary districts falling apart in cities across the nation, including Albuquerque. He lived on the opposite side of town from it, but riotous Sanctuary District 84 was only ten miles away. Despite the Bell Riots, policy took a long time to dispel and the further from the capitol, the longer it took to accommodate new policy.

"It's kind of like a lullaby," Val said, of the Taos Hum. She could hear it because of her senses mirroring her father's rather than her fully human peers. At times, Mestral felt that humankind was not far from the level of psychic empathy of Vulcan's, but at other times he was glad they hadn't ventured far enough into space to encounter an alien race. At this point in human development as a species, meeting Vulcans, for example, would be disastrous.

"What else do you sense," Mestral asked his child. Val considered. "I feel the sun on my arm, and I see the town and the signs for the pueblos ahead, and I can kinda tell there are people over there in town."

Mestral glanced over at Val, "How do you figure that?"

She shrugged. "It's not like I hear them, or see them. But there are people over there." She leaned against the windowsill from the backseat. "Do they have frybread?" she asked.

Mestral paused. His daughter's abilities may surpass his own, though not through conscious effort. She had no idea about Vulcans, the Suus Mahna, none of it. Mestral had begun her on a strict meditation routine, yet the girl wanted to explore the world and experience things, despite his best efforts to keep her at home.

"So, Daddy," Valdena prompted, sitting at Mestral's desk, "Do aliens exist?"


	9. The World Turned Upside Down

I sincerely apologize to the people of New Mexico. Unrelated, nukemaps dot com was heavily used in determining what happened before I decided to do it.

Again, sorry.

* * *

Mestral awoke abruptly to the Civil Defense System sirens suddenly going off. He glanced at the clock, seeing it was barely two in the morning. He walked quickly into the living room and turned on the television.

"An undisclosed aircraft is en route with the expressed intention of destroying the military research sector, primarily focused in Los Alamos. Air Force stationed at Kirkland has been called into action and is going to attempt to prevent the unknown aircraft from fulfilling its mission. Mandatory evacuation is being issued for the entire central part of the state. Get out now. If you do not evacuate, you will die. Leave your things. Just get out!"

Mestral didn't hear the second part of the message- he had already opened the garage door, started up the mostly-fixed fixer-upper motorcycle that he had been casually experimenting with, and was already shaking Val awake.

"Wake up Val. We need to go. Now." He pulled her out of bed as he spoke and shoved a child sized motorcycle helmet over her bed-head and put a dusty black backpack on her.

"Dad? What is going on?" she awkwardly slipped her arms through the straps.

"Hush, child. It's finally happening, we will talk later," he picked her up and hauled them both down the stairs and into the garage, where the bike was idling. He had come to Earth during the height of the Cold War in the 1950s, and as that had settled, the growing discomfort over the ethics of eugenics had given way to the Eugenics Wars. That had barely settled down, and he had almost been waiting for the next things for humans to fight each other over. That dusty leather backpack was a purchase made in the 1980s and contained emergency supplies, non-perishable food, $5,000 in cash, and most importantly, his worn copy of The Teachings of Surak.

"Are we going on a ride?" Val sleepily asked as Mestral sat her on the back seat and lifted the kickstand, revving the engine. "But it's a school day."

"Not anymore," he said grimly, making sure his daughter was gripping him tightly and peeling out into the night.

They made it out just in time. Due to his quick response and choice of motorcycle over car, Mestral and Val were able to get out of town just as traffic was beginning to jam, and on the empty highway east the little motorcycle flew along at very illegal speeds. An hour later, just as they passed the green highway sign stating they were entering Santa Rosa, a wall of noise and light burst from the distance behind them. Mestral's Vulcan eyes were less affected by this but it was still far too bright for comfort. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and could only see a mushroom cloud rising. As he looked back he caught a glimpse of Valdena's green eyes, wide with fright and confusion as she watched the cloud rise in the mirror. He felt her hug his waist tighter, but neither spoke.

The motorcycle finally ran out of gas in Tucumcari, and they were forced to stop at a Shell and refill. They went into the station to grab some food and drink, and see if there were any updates on what exactly had happened. The attendant was not paying attention at all, eyes glued to webcast on the Internet on his cell phone.

"Any news?" Mestral asked grimly, setting down the assorted things they had picked out. The clerk startled, and his hands shook as he scanned the items.

"It says the bomb hit Albuquerque and it was massive. As big if not bigger than the Tsar Bomba." Mestral took a moment to recall- that was another relic of the mid-century, Russian-made. 100 megatons of power. It was tested but never officially used, not even in the Eugenics War. To imagine that the humans had come up with something even deadlier than that would have been inconceivable to anyone who hadn't been studying the planet's dominant species for seventy years. "So far they are saying…no survivors. In the entire city, no survivors. No one can get in there or even into Santa Fe. Or Los Alamos. Nowhere."

Val was silently watching from behind Mestral, eyes clearly showing signs of shock. She hadn't spoken in hours. Mestral debated getting a motel room but knew that neither of them would be sleeping that night, so they ate, got back on the bike, and kept following Route 66 eastward with no destination in mind.


	10. Get Your Kicks on Route 66

They passed the state border into Oklahoma without comment, no longer exceeding the speed limit or in a rush, yet still riding on. Mestral finally stopped when they reached Oklahoma City, again because the bike was out of gas. He paid for a hotel room for the day and following night so that he could see how broken Val was and try to address that. All of this felt like years, but it had only been six hours. It was just now eight in the morning. When he had shown the hotel desk attendant his New Mexico driver's license with his Albuquerque address, he had to force back irritation at her sudden shift in demeanor to pity.

He opened the door to the room and gently led Val in. Mestral tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. He suddenly heard Lily in his mind, echoing from a memory long ago, "Sometimes terrible things happen to innocent people. It's what happens afterward that matters the most."

"Valdena," he addressed his daughter. She set the backback down on the bed and looked up at him. " I need to leave you here alone for a bit. We need clothing, food. Information. Please behave yourself and I will return as quickly as possible. You may order room service or whatever you desire."

When he returned, he found Valdena in a bubble bath emotionlessly eating nachos. She was listening to the radio on the alarm clock, which she had unplugged from the nightstand and set up in the bathroom, balanced on the lid of the toilet seat.

"They are sending drones in because it is too radioactive for human life," she said in a monotone. Mestral set down his shopping bags and came into the bathroom, sitting on the floor next to the tub with his back leaning against the rim.

"School is definitely cancelled today," he raised an eyebrow sardonically. Val almost choked on her nacho chip, laughed loudly, and immediately burst into heart-wrenching sobs. Mestral would have been shocked at this behavior from a Vulcan, but not from his half human daughter. He did something he hadn't done since she was a toddler; Mestral set the plate of nachos on the sink counter and began washing his child's hair while she sobbed freely. Shampoo. Scrub. Conditioner. Scrub. He handed her the body wash, and set a towel next to the tub for her, and left the bathroom so she could compose herself.

He set on the edge of one of the double beds and meditated until she emerged, eyes dry and clean. Without moving, Mestral said, "There are clean clothes in the bag on the left for you, as well as a comb and toothbrush. Your life may have fallen apart but that is no excuse for poor hygiene."

Val snorted and took the bag back into the bathroom. "Dad?"

"Yes my child?" he replied, eyes still closed and body still in meditative stance.

"Thank you."

He paused and opened his eyes. "You are my daughter. The moment I saw you, you were mine to raise. To protect. I am sorry that this is how you are growing up, but sometimes terrible things happen to innocent people. It's what happens afterward that matters the most."

Val paused while brushing her hair. "That is amazing. Who said that?"

"Your mother, before she died." He hesitated, but given the circumstances a little sentiment was forgivable, "I sincerely wish you could have met her."

He stood in the shower for far too long, letting the hot water rain down. Meditation was easier in a shower, he determined. When he emerged from the bathroom later, he found Valdena sitting cross-legged on the bed she had claimed, studying a road map Mestral had picked up while he was out.

"Where are we going to live now?" she asked thoughtfully.


	11. Interstate 49

Mestral had every intention of continuing to ride his bike east, but Val had different ideas. They had just crossed into Arkansas when she got a wild hair idea. "Dad, let's turn. We've been going the same way forever."

"We have been going the same way for two days," Mestral corrected. "Do not use hyperbole without restraint."

He couldn't see her but knew his ten year old was rolling her eyes. "I vote we turn at the next highway."

Mestral was about to respond and then reconsidered. He had never lived in the middle of the country. Maybe a central state wasn't such a bad idea. He had been north, and it was too cold. East, but too crowded. Southwest, and now that he had bittersweet memories there, maybe it was time to move on.

"Agreed," he decided. He felt Val hug him.

"Ok so I'll keep an eye out for a highway junction sign," she said if not happily, than more positive than the last two days. Per Val's request, they had paused at some of the roadside attractions heading east, even doubling back to see the Cadillac Ranch outside of Amarillo. Her reasoning had been that just like her mother had said, what happens after is what matters most. Mestral complied with his child's requests because her mother would have done the exact same thing. He was a few years past 110, and the grey hairs were beginning to show. He ignored the pesky thoughts about whose lifespan his daughter's life would mirror- those of the humans, who generally only reached 80 or 90 years, or his own, already well over 100.

"There, there is one!" Val poked her father. Mestral mentally shook himself loose from his thoughts, and took the ramp to go north on a highway called I-49. It was late morning and as they rode higher into the Ozark Mountains, they both found themselves drawn to the views off the sides of the highways- panoramic views of rolling small mountains, tree covered, fading into the distance. They kept driving, and the altitude began climbing as well. Not as high as Albuquerque had been above sea level, but still notable.

Eventually they passed through a tunnel, and civilizations began gradually increasing. Not long later, a spire rose in the distance, and as they progressed further north, the towns grew larger. Eventually, Mestral decided to spontaneously turn right, and the towns grew more sparse.

"Dad, stop!" Val punched Mestral's shoulder. They were in an old, worn looking town next to a large body of water. The grass was so thick it was growing over concrete in many spots, and the trees were thick and tall. He pulled onto the curb halfway across a bridge spanning a wide river.

"This is amazing," Val said. "I've never seen so much water! And look how green everything is!"

Mestral looked back at the small town they had just driven through. A weather-worn wooden sign hanging from a similarly abused looking poll outside what appeared to be a mobile home converted into a business declared 'Prairie Creek Marina Shop' in peeling blue letters. He looked at the waters flowing gently under the bridge, and the tree-lined shores. Perhaps he had lived in cities too long. Perhaps a return to country live would help him recover from the last decade, and give his daughter a safe place to grow up. No one would ever drop a hydrogen bomb on Arkansas, there was no point.

A month later, between Mestral's investment payouts and a major financial transaction, a small renovated farmhouse overlooking that same river but slightly more north belonged to "The Tylers".


	12. You Are Not a Mutant You're an Alien

The Walmarts were much nicer here, Mestral noticed almost immediately. The residents were also. The previous homeowner for the house that he purchased came by at the human holiday Easter with an apple pie and some advice for living in the Ozarks. Mestral and Val had paid close attention to his advice. There was an old woman on an oxygen tank who lived a quarter mile up the mountain from them whose family never visited her- Mestral somehow ended up mowing her lawn for her after a single chance encounter. In return, she supplied them with eggs from her henhouse. Val was ecstatic.

The house Mestral bought was modest to look at from the street, but from the river looking up it was majestic. The basement had a walkout porch that connected via spiral staircase to the larger, upper deck. Val had claimed the lower floor to herself almost immediately upon entering the home- it was a common space with a full bathroom, and a sliding door to the lower porch. She was in love with the view and it wasn't long before Mestral purchased a swinging bench chair for her. His room was sparse and on the first floor, along with the living room and kitchen. The house was small and suited their needs perfectly.

It was almost April and the neighbor lady on the oxygen tank, Mrs. Reynolds, had somehow inched her way on her walker with the oxygen tank hanging out of the basket down the hill to the Tyler house, and Mestral had just finished brewing her some tea. Maggie was at school, trying to salvage her semester and prepare for starting middle school.

"Now dear," Mrs. Reynolds said as Mestral set down the teacup and saucer at the kitchen table, "How are you and your girl settling in here? Y'all've only been moved in a few weeks but I am ever so grateful that you chose this neighborhood and I'm worried for you guys. I've lived here on this street since 1971 and this is a peaceful part of town. No crime, no scares other than that crazy chicken Paulina on up the hill used to have. Have y'all had any trouble settling in?" Her accent was pure Ozark and Mestral suddenly was transported back to Carbon Creek. Different accent, different situation, but Mrs. Reynolds the widow cared exactly the same as Maggie did back then.

"Nothing unexpected," Mestral took a sip of his own tea. "My daughter will not have to repeat the school year, which I am grateful for."

Mrs. Reynolds nodded sympathetically, her thin white hair moving with the motion. "It troubles me greatly what y'all have been through, with the atomic bomb in Albuquerque and all. I hope you can find home here. You are both welcome in my home. Lord knows my own children don't visit."

Mestral had just returned from driving Mrs. Reynolds back to her house in the truck he had acquired when Val came in and threw her backpack at the floor. She flopped down overdramatically on the couch and moaned loudly.

"Problems at school, my daughter?" Mestral calmly asked while washing the tea cups.

Val sat up. "I am sorry, father. I know you don't like when I get all dramatic. But these girls at school are just testing me and I am only there to learn. They won't leave me alone. They are so mean!"

"In what way," Mestral asked, wiping the water off his hands and coming to sit next to Valdena. She tucked her hair behind her ears, showing their unique pointed shape.

"This," she said, gesturing at her ears. "My freaky ears. They keep telling people not to talk to the mutant."

Mestral exhaled slowly. It had already been a traumatic year, it was probably best to address this now. "You are not a mutant," he began.

"Right?!" Val interrupted. Mestral held up a hand to stop her.

"You are an alien."

There was a very heavy pause.

"I'm sorry, what?" Valdena said lightly. Mestral took off his toboggan and tucked his shaggy hair back, revealing his own pointed Vulcan ears.

"I am not from Earth. Your mother was, but there are certain facets of my heritage that have passed on to you." Mestral began slowly, getting up and moving some of the books on the bookshelf aside. "Your mother knew. She decided it didn't matter. Here is a book of my- our- people, The Teachings of Surak."

He handed her the faded and worn book that he had treasured away all this time. "I saw this in the backpack," Val said slowly. "You went out to get us food and I read parts of it. I didn't understand what this was and just…put it back."

"Your mother reacted similarly," Mestral conceded. "But I convinced her with this." He grimly rose from the couch and got a knife from the kitchen.

Val watched, eyes wide. She tucked back a strand of black hair that had fallen loose. "Father?"

Mestral fought the flashbacks as he brought the knife down, gentler this time but still forceful enough to cut the skin and cause bleeding. "Your mother was convinced by this," he said. "I am ever so grateful you have copper-based blood."

Val watched as the green blood welled up, and she was silent as he bandaged his arm. Three minutes ticked by, according to the grandfather clock on the mantle.

"So I am not the same as them," she finally said. "I'm half you, so thusly I'm half an alien?"

Mestral nodded. "If you would like I can tell you about my childhood, on my planet."

Val smiled. "I'd like that," she said softly, tucking her long dark hair behind both ears.


	13. Fourteen

Val was fourteen now. She had finally agreed to let her hair grow long and it was halfway down her back, long silky black hair. Her eyes, green as ever, were now accompanied by makeup that she secreted away from her father in her locker at school and washed off before she went home. She had a healthy tan from outdoor sports and other than her otherworldly stamina and strength, didn't stand out from her peers in middle school at all.

Mestral, on the other hand, didn't have to change almost any of his appearance. He still bore shaggy hair under a toboggan all year long, and preferred flannel plaid shirts with denim pants. As a way to feel engaged in the community, he had volunteered to assist with various charitable organizations that build homes for the poor and needy, sometimes joined by Val in her own dark overalls.

The bombing of Albuquerque had, interestingly enough, led to a declaration of peace and neutrality on the part of the USA in regards to the ever-growing conflict post-Eugenics War. There was an influx of refugees and emigrants coming into the country from areas that had already decided to go to war, yet despite being on the threshold, no one dared yet to label it World War III.

By this time, the results of the bombing that had driven Mestral and Val from their home in the middle of the night had been determined. In just a few minutes, over 500,000 people had died. Outside the immediate zone, another 200,000 had major injuries. Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and Los Alamos as well as all of the smaller towns between the three had been completely wiped off the map by the errant bomber, later determined to be from some Asian country where the Eugenics War had hit hard. No more bombs had fallen, even after the declaration of neutrality.

In Arkansas, it was as though nothing had changed. International affairs and wartime strife were thousands of miles away. More immediate, though, were the issues of everyday life. Mestral had settled in for the moderately long-term; the house was solid, the land was valuable and the area was quiet and calm. He began to appreciate having the White River right outside his back door, and spent many evenings helping Val with her homework and talking about life while casually watching the river.

He had agreed finally to letting her skip a few grades, and thus although she was fourteen, she was a junior in high school. The reasoning was that after her conduct in evacuating New Mexico as well as in adjusting to a new town and life, Valdena did have the emotional maturity after all to not have to deal with public school as a standard student. However this meant that in the fall, she would be a senior and begin college preparations, which Mestral was insistent upon. As a result, she was preparing for college examinations for Harvard instead of doing what her peers were up to, such as dating and shenanigans. Mestral was secretly thrilled, in his own way. He had yet to meet a man worthy of his daughter and was secretly resolve to never find one who was.

"So math prep is done for tonight," Val said, focused on her studies. She laid the advanced calculus book on the end table of the patio and opened another textbook. "Now for socioeconomics."

Mestral helped quiz her and with studying, and after it was over he settled on a woven rug on the floor on the lower level, not far from Val's bed. She put her textbooks on her nightstand and joined him. They sat cross-legged on the floor facing each other, and Mestral began.

"First, inhale over six counts. One, two, three, four, five, six…and exhale over six counts, one, two..."

The meditative routine was a staple in their evening routine. Although skeptical at first, Val found comfort in it ultimately. Mestral did as well, for different reasons. Either way, they were united against whatever the world would throw at them, no matter what.


End file.
